


Measurement Theory

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Series: Twice the Man I Used to Be [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Body Positivism, Brian Banner's A+ Parenting, Chubby Bruce, Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Eating Disorders, Fat Shaming, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Triggers, Verbal Humiliation, Weight Issues, fat acceptance, obesity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce ponders his new life with a changed body and attempts to make peace with it. Set in the Twice The Man I Used to Be (aka "The Bigger Man") universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measurement Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins a group of vignettes within the Twice the Man universe. The second in this series, Measurement Theory, is a behind the scenes look from Bruce’s POV in "The Bigger Man," and begins with the day he weighed himself after twenty months' worth of food binging. 
> 
> I never planned on making this a series, but it snuck up on me. As before: **Major warnings for anyone dealing with body triggers/food triggers or weight gain/loss issues.**
> 
> Additional author notes follow.
> 
> *Heed the warnings and tags.*

_"Love isn't a state of perfect caring. 'Love' is an active noun, like 'struggle.'_

_To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now."_ \- F. Rogers

 

**308.7**

_308--_?

“Holy shit,” Bruce murmured. “That can’t be right, can it?” He ran a shaky hand over his jaw and studied the blinking lights with a mixture of awe and anxiety. After more than a year and a half of pizza and beer, custard donuts ( _god those were good, especially the mini ones_ ), fancy French desserts, snack binges ( _yes, he knew Tony was a huge part of that_ ) and meals with calorie counts that could feed entire families ( _what right did he have to eat like that with starving people in the world_ )...it all had to go somewhere.

And the number might _not_ be wrong.

Swallowing, Bruce stepped off the scale and stepped back on, just to make sure. Tony would flip if he saw him doing this, but it had been part of his routine in the past. He wasn’t returning to those patterns, not really. He just needed to evaluate the scientific data in his head, to categorize it, and compare the results with the person he used to be.

**309.1**

Bruce chuckled darkly. Well, of course. Of _course_ it would say that.

He wasn’t totally blind; hell, the bath towel twisting in his fists explained it perfectly: His stomach - no _massive globular entity_ \- flopped heavily over his dwindling waist and pinned the towel to his legs without him needing to hold it at all. He’d also become a good deal _wider_ , wide enough that the towel resisted his attempts to cinch it around his hips. Even in his panic he readjusted his grip, just to keep the bit of fabric from fluttering to the floor.

But seeing, actually _seeing_ the number, and having his suspicions not only confirmed but _spectacularly_ surpassed?

_Oh, no. No, no, no no--_

He began to hyperventilate and the wristwatch he co-designed with Tony emitted a small, electrostatic discharge, warning him of his escalating heart rate.

“ _Ow,_ dammit, okay,” he grumbled, taking deep breaths and calming his pulse. In the middle of his yogic breath repetitions a low, inaudible rumble intruded over his thoughts.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “So _now_ you’re upset. Where the hell were you months ago?”

It was the “loudest” Bruce heard from his Dual in some time. The Other Guy hated when he didn’t eat enough, but up until the past twenty months Bruce treated Hulk’s angry insistence like a bad migraine, while suppressing the starved gnawing in his gut. He laughed nervously. Nowadays he couldn’t tell if _he_ was hungry or if it was _Hulk_ ’s hunger, and it had become ridiculously easy to confuse the two.

“Hm.” Bruce’s mind began forming a theory as he stepped off the scale. Maybe food and the Hulk...? No, no. He shook his head. It wouldn’t do to think about it now. Besides he wasn’t ready to go there.

As an afterthought Bruce hopped back on the scale and watched the numbers climb. An unnatural calm quietly trailed his anxiety, sweeping the cobwebs of his stubborn mind. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy eating now, he reminded himself. He did. A lot. Once he got over his fear issues, Tony’s restaurant Rolodex gave him carte blanche to every taste and flavor of the world, and he dove right in, eyes shut and mouth wide open.

 _But what does it_ mean, Bruce wondered, still on the scale. _What conclusions can I gather, exactly?_ The results blinked at him again, indicating he was still somewhere between 308 and 309, and he gingerly stepped down, swearing the machine sighed with relief. Yes, he was a scientist and he should know the answers to his own questions. But he didn’t.

Still. Conclusion number one. He was--

Bruce hid from the word, but the word itself wasn’t evil or wrong, it was a multi-purpose construct. Like a gun. Or a knife. Or...explosives. It could be used the wrong way in the wrong hands by the wrong people, and that was all.

He was... _ **fat**_.

Extremely.

And if he were fair, extremely fair though he hated the conclusion, he sort of _liked_ it. He moved like a whale in deep waters, and he felt a certain grace in it. He liked going with Tony to try the latest food crazes. He liked when his clothes became a wee too snug but a few days later they mysteriously fit (Jarvis noticed, must have, since he had a ready supply of new clothes). He liked plodding instead of walking, sitting instead of standing and moving only when he had to. His girth proved life didn’t have to be one way, or another. He could - and he snorted at the metaphor - have his cake and eat it too.

He patted his stomach absently. Many, many cakes.

He compartmentalized the thought scientifically to gauge meaning, expanding his mind with this new data piece; now was the time to stop running and face the results of his gluttony, and...analyze the results.

His stomach rumbled with more insistence and Bruce ambled around the changing area, grabbing his clothes from a side bench. As he bent to retrieve his boxers he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the gym mirror, and his cheeks flushed. The one result he _didn’t_ like was his altered appearance. Which, if he believed in irony, was hilarious, considering if provoked he turned green and instantly added an additional 900 (or 600 now) pounds to his frame. But this...was different. He had actively avoided mirrors for more than half a year. Even a shadow would bring heat to his cheeks and Brian Banner’s taunts, resurrected from the depths of hell, would fill his mind with their staccato cadences of how ugly and depraved he’d become.

“None of that, now,” he murmured as he shuffled his pants over his hips. He forced measured breaths through his body as he slowly buttoned his pants and he recited chemical formulae in his head to silence the gut-punches of his father’s curses.

His traitorous subconscious continued screaming as he angrily shoved his arms into the sleeves. His shirt alone would’ve set most people back a pretty penny, especially with the increased amount of material needed to make it, and he had no right to take advantage. Bruce sucked in his gut but the shirt stretched around his middle like a sheet of clingfilm. He growled as he buttoned the shirt and tugged at it but it curled and bunched around his widest point, revealing eyelets of skin through the puckered fabric. His shirts needed replacing. _Again_.

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek. _Dammit._ He had to find balance, somewhere. He couldn’t rely on Tony’s charity forever.

He sighed and was slipping his arm into his lab coat sleeve, when both Hawkeye and Captain America came around the corner. He quashed the surging, bubbling panic but couldn’t miss Clint’s side-eye at his rumpled, ill-fitting lab coat. The sniper obviously didn’t approve of his new physique and no matter how well Clint steeled his features, he telegraphed his disapproval of Bruce’s new body in every expression, every move.

“Hey, Banner, you workin’ out with us? Pumpin’ the old iron?”

Bruce’s smile was a little wan. “No, no, not today.”

“Oh, so you already did a few runs on the treadmill, or something?”

“No.”

The silence physically hurt. Steve was the one who spoke first, shattering the awkward pause, and Bruce was grateful for it. “No problem, Dr. Banner--” _He used to use my first name_ , Bruce thought, and his mouth twisted a little. “--we’re not all gym rats, and we don’t need to be. Clint, you coming?”

Steve headed towards the boxing ring while Clint hung back a second, shooting an undeserved, judgmental frown in Bruce’s direction. “Yeah, coming, Cap. See ya, Doc. Soon, hopefully.”

 _As if it were an invitation, instead of a demand_. Bruce’s anger at the voiceless accusation simmered below the surface, but he took it in stride. He was always angry, after all; now he had another reason to be.

**

The lab was his sanctuary, his sanctum from the world. He found no reason to leave the Tower, not really, not since Ross lost both his military funding and his mind. Last thing Bruce heard, the General was resting in a cozy, padded cell somewhere and Director Fury made it high priority to keep him there.

As for Betty, well. She married Leo Samson, and he didn’t blame her. The stability did her good, and every once in a while he heard from her via SHIELD; last communique mentioned they were expecting twins.

Good for her.

Bruce sighed. The people in his life were protected and safe, and the world for the past few years had been on alert but not chaotic, so there had been no need for the Hulk. The other Avengers found their footing and kept the peace, and they all did their own thing until they came home to the tower. To rest.

He admitted for those who hadn’t seen him in some time that his physical change was a hilarious shock, though those people reacted how he expected: Stunned silence, rapid blinking - sometimes a small jaw drop combined with raised brows. Most recovered after stumbling feebly over their words. But the comments. Oh, yes, those were even better and hella fun. _You’re looking...um, healthy. Are you depressed? Are you sick?_ And his very favorite: _Did you get a haircut?_ No, you asshole, he wanted shout. I got _fat._ There’s a fucking difference.

Bruce grunted as he leaned forward to turn on his monitor. As the screens booted he collapsed back, and the steady hydraulic _hiss_ of his chair offered a bit of self-soothing comfort to his bones. Right about now he would’ve tucked into a few treats, something to help him think, and they would’ve disappeared quickly only to be refilled by one of Tony’s bots; now he had something else to fill his mind.

“Jarvis?”

The hollow-voiced AI barely paused, “Yes, Dr. Banner.”

“I need my latest stats with a side by side comparison coinciding with my arrival: gamma decay, BP, lipids, glucose, full metabolic panel, CBC, BMI--”

The AI made the equivalent of a polite cough. Bruce’s finger hovered on one of the holographic screens and he glanced at the ceiling. “Problem?”

“I’m afraid, Dr. Banner, that a portion of your request will require an additional override.”

Bruce thinned his lips, nodding slowly, then he shook his head while making adjustments to his readouts. “Okay, Tony, I get it,” he muttered. “But that’s not the issue anymore.

“Jarvis, give me what you can, and I’ll work on the rest later.”

“Very good, Dr. Banner.”

He continued to work for a short while but staying on track was difficult; his mind continually drifted as he wondered about his partner’s thoughts. Tony’s heart was in the right place, but Bruce worried they were on opposite pages. His finger hovered over one part of the screen. Did Tony feel...differently towards him now? Worse? Who was he trying to please, or protect? Bruce kind of wanted to know.

His ear caught a few muffled curses near the stairwell. Well, he thought, sinking into his chair. Seems like as good of a time as any to ask him.

***

Their honest talk gave him a little more peace; Tony was still Tony and he was still Bruce, and that’s all he wanted their relationship to be. Knowing Tony supported him meant more to him than anything else, because no matter his choice life wouldn’t skid to a halt. Maybe he wouldn’t need to worry about accidental triggers, if Tony was close by.

Bruce thoughtfully finished his lasagna with a side of fettuccine alfredo and smiled at the lingering flavors on his tongue. Good to the last fork, beautifully seasoned...he reveled a little in his progress. He wouldn’t have appreciated a dish like this a few years back. He would’ve been afraid of it.

Tony was pleasantly mellow and had an arm curved around a spare chair. He watched Bruce fondly, taking steady sips from his wineglass. “Chef Harris is one of the best in the city,” he told him. “He goes a little gonzo on the spices, but I think it enhances his dishes.”

“It’s delicious, I agree.” Bruce rocked back in his chair, feeling pleasantly full but not painfully stuffed. He took note of how he felt and filed the information away, for later. Still...his good mood couldn’t last forever not when he had things to discuss, not when he had things to _do_. With an exasperated little sigh, he folded his arms over his larger stomach and glared over the rims of his spectacles.

“Uh, oh,” Tony sighed. He finished his glass of wine and put his elbows on the table. “I know that look. Come on, ‘fess up. What’d I do this time?”

Bruce’s eyebrow quirked. “I need you to override the data block on my health panel.”

“Mm.” Tony’s played with the stem of his glass, expression hardening. “You sure, Banner?”

“Absolutely.”

The engineer scraped a thumbnail across the tablecloth, flicking a stray breadcrumb to the floor. “Could be a slippery slope.”

“I’m a grown man, Tony.” And under his breath, “A little too grown.”

Tony’s eyes snapped up. “And that’s why I don’t think you’re ready.”

“No, that’s exactly why I am,” Bruce retorted, leaning forward. “Don’t treat me like your personal exotic pet on a leash, Tony.” The other man flinched, but Bruce barreled on. “If there are health risks for me, I need to know them. My blood panel is a lesser issue, I already know how radioactive that is. But I need to know if my physical change affects my numbers and especially my gamma output. I have some theories, I want to test them. But I can’t test anything if you’re blocking me like I’m a goddamn three year old.”

Tony kept his expression neutral, as if weighing the risks and returns and Bruce secretly hated what he read in his expression. He shouldn’t have to be monitored, Tony didn’t have the right to be his jailer. “Okay,” Tony finally said. He refilled his glass and took a small drink. “Okay. And I apologize. That...was a shitty thing to do.”

“Damn right,” Bruce rumbled, and his chair creaked satisfyingly, as if punctuating his words. “I understand why you did it, but let’s talk through stuff like this first, okay? I can handle it. I’m not made of glass.”

Tony’s cheek twitched. “I’m not either, Bruce.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tony thinned his lips. “Trust goes both ways. You need to trust me more and trust that I care about you, the man. The scientist. The _Hulk_.” Bruce fidgeted in his seat. “I signed on for the whole package deal and I’m not backing out of it. I don’t care if you’re fat or skinny, Bruce, but I do care if you feel like hiding from me.”

“I’m not--”

He waved an impatient hand at him. “No, cut that shit out, you _are_. You used to like foreplay, but I guess I should be happy you still want sex, so there is that.” Bruce colored and looked at his hands. “But I like the other stuff too. Let my eyes roam, let me enjoy what I’m seeing.”

Bruce blushed harder but didn’t address Tony’s retort. “So you want honesty? Fine, I’ll be honest: It’s hard. You’ve been around a lot of guys, but from my recollection you’ve never been with a guy my size before, have you?”

“Would it matter?”

“It might,” Bruce said. He rubbed a hand down his jaw. “Here’s me laying it on the line, Tony. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fat.”

He rolled his eyes at him. “Bruce you’re--”

“ ‘Perfect,’ I know. But that’s not what I’m getting at. The issue is, do _you_ see it? If you get bad press from it, if someone on the team comments on it, will that change how it is for us? Because caring about me is one thing. Defending me from attack is another.”

“Yeah, well, that already happened,” Tony said quietly.

Bruce blinked. “What?”

“The whole...comment thing. I dealt with some blowback.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And?” Tony made a face. “ _And_? And _what_? I _handled_ it, Bruce. I don’t know what else you want me to say, but they were out of line and I told them where to shove it. I’m not into fat guys or thin guys, or whatever guys. I’m into _you_ , Bruce. When are you gonna get that into your stubborn brain?”

Bruce steeled his lips and picked at the remains on his plate. “If only it were that simple.” Some of his experiences had become Gordian knots of emotion, pulling him into ever darkening pits of frustration. Even with his new declaration, that food was neither good nor bad, just food, he would need time to heal from the damage. After enduring 40 years of abuse, it he couldn’t possibly win the battle overnight.

He let out a long sigh and nervously licked his lips. He hated being so vulnerable, but Tony deserved that little bit from him, at least. “Going from...one extreme to the other, and then deciding that I...prefer who I am now? Sorry, but I’m a little touchy about other people’s perceptions. What I feel isn’t logical. It’s also not logical to hope others will accept me for who I am when I’m not even sure how I feel.”

“True, not everyone will understand,” Tony said, eyes kind. “But I’m the one that matters, right?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. He allowed an ugly snarl to creep across his lips. “I expect the worst, so I’m not surprised when it happens. It’s a comforting, fucktastic view of life.”

“I call bullshit,” Tony murmured softly. “You’ve got like a billion neuroses, none of which are relevant to you and I making _this_ ,” he said, gesturing to the two of them, “work. What’s that song, 99 problems? Yeah, don’t lump me in there, ‘cause I’m not one.”

Bruce shot him a threatening look, but Tony simply shrugged. “I’ll fight for you and I’m in your corner, but if you have the stones to look up your health data without getting triggered, you have the stones to let me enjoy looking at your naked ass.” He held up a hand, stilling Bruce’s automatic retort. “Naked Hulk-outs don’t count.”

He couldn’t fight Tony, not today, and he was too tired to even try. “Tony, I--”

“I have a better idea, other than a two-for-one trip down woe-is-me lane. I’m horny as hell, Banner. Seriously. This talk? Us talking? Just makes me want to prove to you how much I want you. Tell you what. Let’s split a tiramisu and then head back for some alone time.”

Bruce’s body responded before his mouth did. And he didn’t need the tiramisu but he _wanted_ it, like he wanted everything in his life to work.

Bruce’s defenses collapsed. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Okay.”

***

“Oof...c’mon, Banner. Work with me.”

Bruce laughed as Tony, naked as a jaybird, kept tugging on his arm to pull him off the bed. “Benefits of me being larger than you. Good luck trying to lug me around.”

“Just work with me here, would ya? Christ on a crutch.”

“Fine, fine.” Bruce groaned like a sick bull but slowly sat up. The heady dizziness of being fucked inside out (pretty much literally) buzzed through him, and he felt drunk from it. If he were in a different frame of mind he probably would’ve rolled over and fallen asleep. “I hope you know, you have the worst-timed ideas.”

“What can I say, I have to go where the muses take me.”

“I think they’ve taken you to one too many dive bars.”

“Shut up, and get up.” Tony crooked a finger at him and headed towards the bathroom.

Bruce sighed (he was doing a lot of that lately) and rolled to his feet. He was equally naked, but his larger abdomen made it harder to tell. “Is this the part where we take a shower? Because if it’s all the same I’m beat and I’d rather sleep.”

“No shower, not yet. C’mere.”

Bruce winced when Tony turned on the bathroom lights. He preferred not being awake right now, and wanted more than anything to trod back to bed. But Tony grabbed his arm and led him to one of the larger mirrors. God, Tony could be so vain.

He snorted loudly. “Tony. C’mon. We could be asleep right now.”

“Bruce,” he murmured. “I love you.”

Bruce froze. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t need to repeat myself.” Tony began kneading Bruce’s back. An unconscious rumble left Bruce’s lips which turned to a low moan when Tony’s cock pressed into his backside.

He angled Bruce so he faced the mirror, full-on. “Heh. Now, look at yourself, Big Guy--” Bruce winced at the nickname. It was truer than ever. “Check yourself out.”

Bruce patently ignored his reflection. “This is stupid. I don’t need--”

“Do it. For me.” After Tony’s love bombshell Bruce didn’t see a choice. His mind wrapped around the word while his eyes roamed the reflection of an enormous man - someone he barely recognized - a figure whose body nearly dwarfed the mirror’s width. He thought of all the cliched fat men on TV and in the movies, and noted how big he was, or bigger, in comparison to them. His arms instinctively rose to cover himself, to hide, but Tony slapped his arms down.

“None of that. Erase what you’re thinking. You know what I see?” Tony’s hands came around him as much as they could, and he slowly trailed his hands across Bruce’s arms, his chest. Tony’s fingers tickled the sensitive skin of his gut apron and Bruce’s partially hidden cock bobbed greedily against his paunch. Bruce hummed and partially closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Tony’s fingers drown his doubts.

“I see,” Tony continued, “strength. Power. Places to play,” he said, gently squeezing and pinching pockets of fat. A pleasant shiver shot through Bruce. “I also see a man whose quiet smiles make me so fucking horny that I can’t sit still in meetings with him. I see a man whose mind parallels and in some ways surpasses my own, and that’s not an easy feat, seriously not.”

“Tony,” Bruce grumbled. But both of them saw the traitorous blush creeping up his chest and neck.

“Hear me out. I’m fascinated by you. Head over heels, maybe. And I wish you could see what I see. It frustrates me that you don’t.”

Bruce threaded his fingers through Tony’s smaller hands and brought them up to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Thanks.” He swallowed and looked at himself, and tried not to shoot daggers at the fat man, tried accepting the new image. He supposed Tony helped, a little. “I’ll...try,” he conceded. “But it’s gonna take some time, Tony. I’m not there yet.”

He tugged his fingers through Bruce’s curls. “Like I said, with you every step of the way. And y’know, if it helps, I happen to think Kevin Smith - the director, not the athlete, ‘cause you don’t play football - is a very sexy fat dude. And you kinda resemble him in his heyday, but your glasses are sexier and he can’t hold a candle to your hair.”

Bruce chuckled at Tony’s nervous prattle and the room's tension slowly disappeared. He might've done it on purpose, actually, just to hear Bruce laugh. “Uh...thanks?”

“You’re welcome. But now my dong is shriveling to the size of a Vienna sausage, and I need my polar bear to keep me warm.” He grabbed Bruce’s hand and led him back to their bed. Bruce let out a low sigh as he sank into the mattress; no matter his size, the mattress cupped his body like a soft catcher’s mitt. Testament to his lover's expensive tastes, he supposed.

Tony propped himself on his elbows and contently watched Bruce’s belly rise and fall with each breath. He let his other hand trickle soothing patterns across Bruce’s abdomen, and Bruce was content enough to let him. “I was serious, you know.”

Bruce nodded. He maneuvered his bulk so he could face him but the love in Tony's eyes was embarrassingly strong, and Bruce couldn’t look directly at him.

A cloud shadowed Tony’s brow and he softly kissed a lock of Bruce’s hair. “Let me in, so we can get through it together.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but instead reveled in Tony’s confidence. He scooted in close so Tony could put a warm arm around him. “It’ll take time,” Bruce repeated.

“Good thing we’ve got it,” Tony said.

He felt Tony’s fingers comb through his curls and he drifted off, but his mind couldn’t help selfishly repeating one word while he succumbed to sleep:

_Hope._

**Author's Note:**

> I internally fought against making this a series, but to quote an Avenger, “I don’t get always what I want.” To say this is difficult for me is to say the equator is hot; yes it is...but I’m realizing maybe I should, for my own reasons. I won’t be updating this series often, only when/if I feel ready, and sometimes those days will be far and few between.
> 
> As per the author’s notes in The Bigger Man “prologue," these vignettes are unique perspectives on the issue of body positivism, weight gain, weight maintenance/loss and etc. but they aren’t meant to follow or mimic another person's journey. If anything helps or encourages, good. If the series makes you uncomfortable, feel free to read something else. As before, this will touch on many body issue triggers, and not everyone will agree. 
> 
> However, if you want to talk in a judgment-free zone over anything I’ve written, please feel free to email me: blrdgirl@inbox.com. I can’t promise to agree, but I /can/ promise to listen.


End file.
